There is a famous Jewish tale of a poor woodsman named Leib who had a dream that a treasure lay under a certain bridge in a far away city. Awoken with inspiration from this dream, the woodsman departed from his family and traveled hundreds of miles to the bridge, which was heavily guarded by the king's soldiers. After several days of loitering around the bridge looking for the opportune time to commence digging, the woodsman was approached by a soldier who inquired as to his intentions.
The woodsman explained his dream to the soldier, who laughed disparagingly, "I also had a dream that a treasure was buried under the house of a certain woodsman named Leib, but you don't see me traveling to his house, do you?"
With those words, the woodsman took leave of the soldier, raced toward his home where, sure enough, the treasure was unearthed; and hence, we learn from the story that a man does not have to leave his backyard to find everything that his heart desires.
The story is a parable, and the treasure is our Torah. In Pirkei Avot, the great sage Ben Bag Bag taught, "You should study Torah from all sides, and you will always turn up new knowledge, because all the wisdom of the world is in Torah. You should look into it all of your lifetime and grow old and gray with it. You should never move away from it, for there is nothing in the world that is better than Torah."
As Jews, we are taught from an early age that Torah is the essence of life; indeed, in Moses' final address to the Children of Israel, in the book of Devarim, he states clearly that Hashem gave us a choice: "Before you I have placed life and death ? choose life."
With such a fundamental foundation for leading a contented, peaceful life, why is it that the value of our treasure seems to elude us? Why are we so often seduced into believing that there is something better over there, that another religion or philosophy has a deeper connection to a higher source or a greater wisdom than our own?
The answer lies in the murky disconnect between discerning the truth and the myths of this world. I experienced this myself quite recently in deciding whether to enroll my children in a more religious elementary school or continue their education in a school that offers less Torah education. In seeking advice from almost everyone we knew, including the guy selling tomatoes in the shuk, and riding the roller coaster of "yes" send them, "no" don't send them, with the highs and lows of the advice proffered, I finally came to the ultimate conclusion ? the answer had to lie within me and my husband, the treasure of our own wisdom, drawn from our own life experiences, our prayers for guidance and our own depth of Torah understanding.
The answer to this question of education might seem bafflingly obvious. Why wouldn't you want to send your child to learn more Torah? After all, our sages have taught, "Go into exile to learn Torah," and certainly our sages had great wisdom ? that is why they are called "sages." But then again, all the other reasons of this world tugged at me and crystallized in the advice we had received: "They won't have enough education to get a job"; "they are happy where they are"; "it is scary to go to something too religious"; "it is too strict"; "they will miss out on their childhood"; "the uniforms are ugly"; "these people don't like anybody"; "the school where they are now is new and beautiful and the other school is old"? The list of reasons not to send them was becoming longer than the list of reasons to send them to learn more Torah.
Interestingly, these reasons beckoned me despite over fifteen years of Torah observance and despite the recognition that I, myself, have come to acknowledge, that all possible wisdom is contained in Torah ? science, mathematics, psychology (Freudian, Behaviorist, and everything in between), history, philosophy, mysticism, economics, business, law, medicine, sociology and much, much more ? we only have to dig for it, as Ben Bag Bag cautioned thousands of years earlier. All these reasons, additionally, when examined closely, reveal the murky disconnect between the deceptions of this world, which cloud the quiet beauty of the true path.
In essence, to choose Torah is to choose a deliberate path toward truth, toward holiness, toward reality. This conscious choice can seem frightening, a long, winding trip to the unknown. This fear is especially agitated by the energetic pull of the force of materialism and secularism that pulsates in almost every facet of modern society. The media, our educators, our world leaders ? almost every avenue and every facet of life ? seem to call, really to scream at us, to pursue more and more things, quick gratification, self-pleasure and self-absorption. The secular is so familiar to us that the wisdom of the Torah hovers like a faint whisper in the background. You have to look for it, you have to seek it out, and like anything else that is worthwhile, you have to work very hard at understanding its wisdom, and hence, the greatness of Ben Bag Bag's advice.
The right choice is often the hardest choice; it is certainly easier and more convenient for each of us to choose the path of least resistance. After all, isn't this what we are taught? The least resistant path, however, usually doesn't lead to the greatest satisfaction, because the greatest satisfaction we humans feel is drawn from mastering our impulses and expanding our spiritual strength, which takes tremendous effort and discipline. These concepts are foreign in a world where ease and instant results are exalted.
I appreciated this struggle to the fullest in making a decision regarding my children's education, and, on some level, it gave me a deeper appreciation of the terrific strivings of those less observant than I. Each step up the ladder toward a deeper connection with the Almighty is scary, but the first step is the most daunting. It takes a great leap of faith, which is buried somewhere within each of us who have taken that first step, to confront our current environment and take a deliberate step to defer to a wisdom that we believe is greater than our own. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I thought there were no more pleas left in me waiting for an answer to drop from Heaven as to which school my children should attend, but no external sign was to be found, only a small, still voice in me, coaxing me toward more Torah.
It is a great leap of faith to counter the norms of society ? a character trait we inherited from our father, Avraham, who singly believed in one Creator and who spread this belief to humanity. Just to live as Jews, on any level of observance, we exhibit this trait, and we demonstrate our courage, as a people, who have clung to our belief for thousands of years. There is a concept that Hashem runs the world with perfect justice, and as such, the reward for the mitzvah or action is based upon the efforts undergone to perform it. Thus, for each of us, the areas of our greatest weaknesses can be converted to our greatest strengths, and one who is farthest from Torah, by taking that first, difficult step has tremendous merit. It is said that a tzaddik, or righteous person, cannot stand in the place of a ba'al teshuva (or one who has returned to the faith).
It is interesting to note that the word ba'al teshuva in Hebrew means "master of repentance" or "return". Thus, the person who turns toward faith has made his choice, and is its master; as such, he should receive the credit. Our sages have taught that Hashem draws closer to us before the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) precisely in order for us to connect with Him and be inspired to return to His ways, or to the treasure in our own backyard. Rabbi Avraham Isaac Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel, taught that the first step toward teshuva is, actually, a return to our true selves; we must dig through the myths and misconceptions that plague our own self images until we uncover the beauty unique to each of us, the Divine spark that lies within us, which is our greatest treasure. Once an individual uncovers his or her own spirituality, he or she forges a pathway for connection to the Divine; as such, Hashem has a vessel in which to pour His blessings. The stronger the connection, the greater the opportunity for receipt of the Divine.
Our rabbis have taught that there are three mechanisms by which we can change ourselves, and, hence, change our mazal, or luck ? through prayer, tzedakkah (or charity), and teshuva. It is taught that the highest form of ourselves is to our "will" or "ratzon". It is higher than the body and even our soul, because our will directs our soul, which, in turn, directs the actions of the body. By changing our will, we essentially change ourselves and accomplish a complete teshuva. We have then formed a new path with which to connect to the Almighty. Our will is ultimately connected to the highest will ? the will of Hashem ? and when we are able to connect our will with His, or nullify our own in order to receive His will, we have, in a sense, perfected our teshuva.
Each step that we take toward acknowledging the treasure of our Torah is a step of return and a step toward spiritual perfection, whether it is daily actions, observance of any mitzvah, prayer, or any other form of acknowledgement of our Creator, including sending a child to a more Torah-observant school. The path toward the Divine is infinite and, despite what our modern day society espouses, the Torah itself teaches, "its ways are pleasantness." It is our greatest treasure.
[Written in memory of my father, Yaakov ben Yehuda Leib, on his fourth Yahrzeit, 5 Elul.]
The woodsman explained his dream to the soldier, who laughed disparagingly, "I also had a dream that a treasure was buried under the house of a certain woodsman named Leib, but you don't see me traveling to his house, do you?"
With those words, the woodsman took leave of the soldier, raced toward his home where, sure enough, the treasure was unearthed; and hence, we learn from the story that a man does not have to leave his backyard to find everything that his heart desires.
The story is a parable, and the treasure is our Torah. In Pirkei Avot, the great sage Ben Bag Bag taught, "You should study Torah from all sides, and you will always turn up new knowledge, because all the wisdom of the world is in Torah. You should look into it all of your lifetime and grow old and gray with it. You should never move away from it, for there is nothing in the world that is better than Torah."
As Jews, we are taught from an early age that Torah is the essence of life; indeed, in Moses' final address to the Children of Israel, in the book of Devarim, he states clearly that Hashem gave us a choice: "Before you I have placed life and death ? choose life."
With such a fundamental foundation for leading a contented, peaceful life, why is it that the value of our treasure seems to elude us? Why are we so often seduced into believing that there is something better over there, that another religion or philosophy has a deeper connection to a higher source or a greater wisdom than our own?
The answer lies in the murky disconnect between discerning the truth and the myths of this world. I experienced this myself quite recently in deciding whether to enroll my children in a more religious elementary school or continue their education in a school that offers less Torah education. In seeking advice from almost everyone we knew, including the guy selling tomatoes in the shuk, and riding the roller coaster of "yes" send them, "no" don't send them, with the highs and lows of the advice proffered, I finally came to the ultimate conclusion ? the answer had to lie within me and my husband, the treasure of our own wisdom, drawn from our own life experiences, our prayers for guidance and our own depth of Torah understanding.
The answer to this question of education might seem bafflingly obvious. Why wouldn't you want to send your child to learn more Torah? After all, our sages have taught, "Go into exile to learn Torah," and certainly our sages had great wisdom ? that is why they are called "sages." But then again, all the other reasons of this world tugged at me and crystallized in the advice we had received: "They won't have enough education to get a job"; "they are happy where they are"; "it is scary to go to something too religious"; "it is too strict"; "they will miss out on their childhood"; "the uniforms are ugly"; "these people don't like anybody"; "the school where they are now is new and beautiful and the other school is old"? The list of reasons not to send them was becoming longer than the list of reasons to send them to learn more Torah.
Interestingly, these reasons beckoned me despite over fifteen years of Torah observance and despite the recognition that I, myself, have come to acknowledge, that all possible wisdom is contained in Torah ? science, mathematics, psychology (Freudian, Behaviorist, and everything in between), history, philosophy, mysticism, economics, business, law, medicine, sociology and much, much more ? we only have to dig for it, as Ben Bag Bag cautioned thousands of years earlier. All these reasons, additionally, when examined closely, reveal the murky disconnect between the deceptions of this world, which cloud the quiet beauty of the true path.
In essence, to choose Torah is to choose a deliberate path toward truth, toward holiness, toward reality. This conscious choice can seem frightening, a long, winding trip to the unknown. This fear is especially agitated by the energetic pull of the force of materialism and secularism that pulsates in almost every facet of modern society. The media, our educators, our world leaders ? almost every avenue and every facet of life ? seem to call, really to scream at us, to pursue more and more things, quick gratification, self-pleasure and self-absorption. The secular is so familiar to us that the wisdom of the Torah hovers like a faint whisper in the background. You have to look for it, you have to seek it out, and like anything else that is worthwhile, you have to work very hard at understanding its wisdom, and hence, the greatness of Ben Bag Bag's advice.
The right choice is often the hardest choice; it is certainly easier and more convenient for each of us to choose the path of least resistance. After all, isn't this what we are taught? The least resistant path, however, usually doesn't lead to the greatest satisfaction, because the greatest satisfaction we humans feel is drawn from mastering our impulses and expanding our spiritual strength, which takes tremendous effort and discipline. These concepts are foreign in a world where ease and instant results are exalted.
I appreciated this struggle to the fullest in making a decision regarding my children's education, and, on some level, it gave me a deeper appreciation of the terrific strivings of those less observant than I. Each step up the ladder toward a deeper connection with the Almighty is scary, but the first step is the most daunting. It takes a great leap of faith, which is buried somewhere within each of us who have taken that first step, to confront our current environment and take a deliberate step to defer to a wisdom that we believe is greater than our own. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I thought there were no more pleas left in me waiting for an answer to drop from Heaven as to which school my children should attend, but no external sign was to be found, only a small, still voice in me, coaxing me toward more Torah.
It is a great leap of faith to counter the norms of society ? a character trait we inherited from our father, Avraham, who singly believed in one Creator and who spread this belief to humanity. Just to live as Jews, on any level of observance, we exhibit this trait, and we demonstrate our courage, as a people, who have clung to our belief for thousands of years. There is a concept that Hashem runs the world with perfect justice, and as such, the reward for the mitzvah or action is based upon the efforts undergone to perform it. Thus, for each of us, the areas of our greatest weaknesses can be converted to our greatest strengths, and one who is farthest from Torah, by taking that first, difficult step has tremendous merit. It is said that a tzaddik, or righteous person, cannot stand in the place of a ba'al teshuva (or one who has returned to the faith).
It is interesting to note that the word ba'al teshuva in Hebrew means "master of repentance" or "return". Thus, the person who turns toward faith has made his choice, and is its master; as such, he should receive the credit. Our sages have taught that Hashem draws closer to us before the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) precisely in order for us to connect with Him and be inspired to return to His ways, or to the treasure in our own backyard. Rabbi Avraham Isaac Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Israel, taught that the first step toward teshuva is, actually, a return to our true selves; we must dig through the myths and misconceptions that plague our own self images until we uncover the beauty unique to each of us, the Divine spark that lies within us, which is our greatest treasure. Once an individual uncovers his or her own spirituality, he or she forges a pathway for connection to the Divine; as such, Hashem has a vessel in which to pour His blessings. The stronger the connection, the greater the opportunity for receipt of the Divine.
Our rabbis have taught that there are three mechanisms by which we can change ourselves, and, hence, change our mazal, or luck ? through prayer, tzedakkah (or charity), and teshuva. It is taught that the highest form of ourselves is to our "will" or "ratzon". It is higher than the body and even our soul, because our will directs our soul, which, in turn, directs the actions of the body. By changing our will, we essentially change ourselves and accomplish a complete teshuva. We have then formed a new path with which to connect to the Almighty. Our will is ultimately connected to the highest will ? the will of Hashem ? and when we are able to connect our will with His, or nullify our own in order to receive His will, we have, in a sense, perfected our teshuva.
Each step that we take toward acknowledging the treasure of our Torah is a step of return and a step toward spiritual perfection, whether it is daily actions, observance of any mitzvah, prayer, or any other form of acknowledgement of our Creator, including sending a child to a more Torah-observant school. The path toward the Divine is infinite and, despite what our modern day society espouses, the Torah itself teaches, "its ways are pleasantness." It is our greatest treasure.
[Written in memory of my father, Yaakov ben Yehuda Leib, on his fourth Yahrzeit, 5 Elul.]